Schism
by Stephantom
Summary: After years of wandering and fighting in southern MiddleEarth, Aragorn finally returns to the place he once called home. But in light of his engagement to Arwen, how will he be welcomed? The story of the relationship between a father and son...
1. Something to Hold Onto

**Disclaimer:** ... bows to Tolkien. (Thanks wanderingelleth for pointing out the typo...)

_So close no matter how far_

_Couldn't be much more from the heart_

_Forever trusting who we are _

_And nothing else matters  
__  
  
Trust I seek and I find in you _

_Every day for us something new _

_Open mind for a different view _

_And nothing else matters  
_  
-Metallica

* * *

Aragorn walked lightly through the springy damp grass, eyes darting warily from bush to bush, tree to tree, covering his tracks unconsciously, out of habit rather than caution. His mind was elsewhere as he came to the last leg of his long journey, the forest thinning out as he came to the borders of the Elf-haven. Relief filled his weary heart as he breathed in the fresh air of Imladris, smiling at the familiar yet still breath-taking scenery.  
  
And yet, anxiety plagued the back of his mind. _This is home_, he told himself. Only, he no longer knew the meaning of the word "home." In truth, he realized, he had not spent many more years at Imladris than he had in either Gondor or Rohan - and both lands had accepted him as one of their own, after a time. It had been so many years, so many places, so many names... With each name he had assumed new mannerisms, to blend into the crowd and remain hidden. But behind the various masks, what remained at the core? Was he still the little boy Estel? And more importantly, would his family think so? Would his father?  
  
The bedraggled ranger ran a hand through his unclean hair at the thought of the wise Elf lord. He knew he would look exactly the same as he did in his memory, unchanged since he had looked upon him as a toddler, while Aragorn himself was rougher, taller, dirtier, stronger, wiser and altogether different. Would Lord Elrond even recognize him? He closed his eyes and imagined the only father he had known, tall and fair and strong, his eyes proud and clear with wisdom of many years, yet sharp with pain long endured - Lord Elrond Half-Elven, the Fair, the Wise, the greatest healer in Middle-Earth.  
  
Aragorn had always adored him as his wise, benevolent protector and teacher. He looked up to him in awe, and despaired at his own inadequacy. Compassion ruled the ancient being, despite his stern countenance, and he had never intentionally hurt his adopted son. But the words never had to be spoken. Although he had always been kind to Estel, the boy could not help but notice subtle differences in the way he treated Elladan and Elrohir, or the way he spoke bitterly of mortal folly in legends. Estel had felt in his heart throughout all the years of his childhood, that he would never compare to the beauty, splendor, and skill surrounding him. And though now banished from his conscious thoughts, this notion was engraved permanently in his heart and he carried it with him wherever he went.  
  
But there was one whom Aragorn knew he could always turn to now. When the world had deserted him, she would be there, smiling at him as if she did not notice how unseemly he appeared beside her, as if she were not aware that she was the most radiant creature in Middle-Earth, that she should have been born a Vala, at least in Aragorn's eyes. He could not help but smile as he envisioned her black, cool, silky hair running across his fingers like water, her warm hands touching his arm, his face, his neck, as they kissed, and the rest of the world disintegrated. Her sad, knowing, yet hopeful eyes would fix upon his sea-grey eyes, and seem to bear his soul, yet she never recoiled at the sight of it. Instead she would smile, and kiss him and hold onto him, washing away all his fears, worries and guilt. With her, he knew the meaning of happiness. And he saw that he made her happy too, doubling his joy. Oh, how he loved her..  
  
For hours, he had sat in the solitude of the room Galadriel had given him, polishing the ring of Barahir, the most valuable item he owned. It had taken a long time to get all the caked dirt and blood out of it, but he had succeeded eventually, and it had shined silver at last, its intricate design clearly visible. And then came the harder part. He spent the day with Arwen as usual, putting it off as long as he could, until they stood alone upon Cerin Amroth, watching the sun set in the west. He knew then that it was the time, and hinted at his intention, asking her exactly how she felt, and what her intentions regarding the two of them were. She had stood thinking for a long time before answering him, imagining a life first without her family, and then without him. It was an impossible choice, but she knew in her heart that she had already decided. There was no question. She would stay with Estel; she had to be with Estel. At this answer, Aragorn had breathed in relief, kissed her cheek gently, and knelt before her, holding her hand as she bit her lip to keep from laughing.  
  
Everything seemed so perfect to Aragorn at this moment. But would their family ever accept their decision? What would her father say--his father. Perhaps truly his father now. When he and Arwen married, he would become a true member of the family--a dream he had never thought to realize. Perhaps now he would. But he would need to see their reactions first. Would they hate him? Would they think him unworthy and selfish? Would they allow Arwen and he to keep their promise to each other? Or tear them apart?  
  
The questions ran through his mind in a flurry, and he shook his head, silencing them. He would find the answers soon enough anyhow. 


	2. The Weight of the Years

_Faces that I've seen turn old and grey  
I've lost too many friends along the way  
Memories I never thought would fade...  
They fade and blow away_  
  
-Staind

* * *

The Lord Elrond stood at the edge of a high balcony, looking out at the trees and waterfalls, the sun high overhead. He had sitting been in his study, taking a break from the affairs of Middle-Earth, reading the ancient legends he knew so well. Today he had been reading of Maglor, son of Feanor. Perhaps he had been feeling nostalgic, to choose a story so close to his heart, so deeply embedded in his memory. It was always interesting to read an outsider's take on the stories he had experienced, the people he had known. Perhaps it was curiosity that had drawn him to that particular book.  
  
In any case, it had brought back a storm of memories he had unconsciously buried years ago. Even after all these years, even being known as the Wisest of the Eldar, he knew not what to think of Maglor. The murderer who had pillaged his city, attacked his home, and driven his parents away. The father who had pitied him and his brother, and taken them under his wing for so long. The troubled soul who so longed for innocence and happiness but never could obtain it. He remembered distinctly the older elf's fiery eyes, always with a look of yearning in them. He had learned in the later years of his youth what this look meant; Maglor was bound to the oath his father and brothers had sworn hundreds of years ago--to recapture the Silmarils, killing all who stood in their way, or be cast into eternal darkness.  
  
Thus, Elrond knew well the power of oaths. They were not to be taken lightly. What had become of Maglor, he knew not. For years, he seemed to have calmed, become almost content with his simple, happy life raising two young elves, redeeming himself, enjoying bestowing love and protection for a change, instead of violence and terror. But eventually, his oath came back to haunt him once again; it would not let him rest. Maglor's only remaining brother, Maedhros had returned to take his younger brother back into war, back onto their consuming quest.  
  
_Why did he have to go?_ He and Maedhros had argued, but it was a fight Maglor could not win, for in his heart of hearts, he too desired to fulfill his oath and hold in his hands one of the precious jewels he so lusted for. And so he had left Elrond and Elros orphaned a second time. Both times had been the fault of the sons of Feanor and their cursed oath to find their fathers' magnificent creation, made from such goodness and beauty, but twisted into something that wrought pain and suffering on so many, for such a long time. It was the first story of its kind in history, but not the last.  
  
When the brothers had finally taken hold of the Silmarils, it was only to find their right to them no longer held. The glorious jewels rejected them and their hands burned in agony at their touch. Maedhros had thrown himself into a pit of fire in despair, and Maglor... Elrond knew not what had become of him. The Elf could not take his own life, for he feared what would follow. Unable to fulfill his oath, he would be consumed by darkness for eternity, and he could find no peace in Middle-Earth, after all the pain and anguish he had wrought. For all Elrond knew, he was still wandering the edge of the ocean, singing in despair for forgiveness, for peace, for all he had lost...Yes, he recalled the elf's unearthly voice. Gifted among elves, Maglor had been. He and Elros used to drift slowly off to sleep, listening to their adoptive father sing to them at night.  
  
_Elros..._ Yet another endless cycle of memories spun through Elrond's mind. His twin and he had been very close. They had been through much together. Elros was the only person who had always been there, in Elrond's memory. They had shared everything, and confided in each other things they told no other soul.  
  
"Oh brother, what has become of you?" whispered Elrond into the gentle breeze. Being Half-Elven, the choice had been placed before them both, to be counted among the Eldar or the Edain. That choice had divided their fates for eternity.  
  
"My lord?"  
  
Elrond was awoken from his reverie by an attendant, looking at him expectantly.  
  
"Yes, Girhael?"  
  
"Your son Estel has just arrived. He went to clean up just now, and I believe he plans on resting for a while after that."  
  
"Ah," said Elrond, frowning. "This is unexpected news. Would you please tell him to see me as soon as he is able? There is much I must speak to him about."  
  
"Of course, my lord," answered Girhael, leaving quickly.  
  
Elrond turned back to the view of Imladris. So Estel had returned. He wondered how this encounter would go. 


	3. Falling Away

_I know the pieces fit  
But I watched them fall away,  
Mildewed and smoldering.  
Fundamental differing.  
  
I've done the math enough to know  
The dangers of our second guessing  
Doomed to crumble unless we grow  
And rediscover communication._  
  
-Tool  


* * *

Aragorn made his way down the corridor, headed to his father's study. He had wanted to take a long, hot bath, and curl up in his old bed for many hours, but Lord Elrond had called him, and he did not want to anger his father anymore than he knew he already had. Outside the door, he stood, taking a deep breath, gathering his courage. Then he raised is chin and entered the room.  
  
"Suilad, Dunadan," said Elrond from across the room, leaning over his desk with his back to the human. Aragorn had hoped that he had grown stealthier, and that he would finally be able to enter a room without an elf hearing or sensing him immediately, but apparently that would not happen.  
  
"Mae govannen, Ada," he answered, standing near the doorway still. After a minute, Elrond put down his quill and stood to face Aragorn.  
  
"I have been informed of your betrothal to my daughter," Elrond spoke, going straight to the heart of the matter. His sharp eyes bored and his foster-son fought to meet his intense gaze. The man kept his face expressionless, but the perceptive elf noted the way he clenched his jaw, and tensed his shoulders at the mentioning of his relationship with Arwen.  
  
"I hear you stumbled into the realm of Lorien where my mother in law welcomed you and showed you great hospitality." Aragorn nodded. "The Lady of the Galadrim has always been generous and comforting, but she would never have allowed any strange mortal into her home. But she accepted you, Estel, because you are my son and she knew of you."  
  
It was merely one more thing to add to the long list of all Elrond had done for him, a debt he would never escape. He knew his foster-father had chosen his words carefully, intending him to think that--but it didn't make them any less true. And how had he repaid him for all he had done? By stealing his daughter's heart. Shame filled him as he fought to keep his posture closed, strong, and respectfully defiant.  
  
"Tell me, Son of Arathorn," continued Lord Elrond slowly, furrowing his dark, elegant brow. "How is it that my fair, young Evenstar has pledged her life to you? How did this come to be?"  
  
Aragorn shifted his weight back and forth on his feet slightly, unsure. What could he say? He closed his eyes in frustration at himself. He had fought so many battles, faced so many hard trials, stared down the fiercest of men - yet somehow, a few words from his father left him feeling like a helpless child again.  
  
He forced himself to look Elrond in the eye as he answered, "We had been friends before that, sir. Naturally we were glad to see one another after so long. She was the only person in Lothlorien I knew, so I spent most of my time with her. I stayed there a season, and we... grew very close. I knew I could not remain there forever, however much I wanted to, but before I left. I... I simply had to ask her. I had to know." He licked him lips nervously. "And... she said yes. Somehow... she said yes." He trailed off, hoping for a quick response, but the dark-haired elf merely stared at him, his face unreadable as always, leaving Aragorn holding his breath in fear of disturbing the taught and oppressive silence in the large room.  
  
Finally, Elrond stirred, and narrowed his eyes. "So you did this out of curiosity?" he asked with a quiet edge to his voice. "Was this an experiment of yours, Dunadan? Did you feel some need to prove yourself capable of capturing an elf's heart? Did you desire to go down in legend as a second Beren?!"  
  
"Lau! That's not fair, sir! You do me an injustice to accuse me of such intentions! Do you think so little of me? You speak as if you knew me not at all, Father."  
  
"I am not your father, Aragorn!" cried Elrond.  
  
The young man blinked, stung by this harsh remark. His mouth parted as if to protest, but no sound came.  
  
"I thought I had made that clear to you years ago, when I informed you of your heritage and destiny and presented you with the shards of Narsil and the ring of Barahir--which I see no longer rests on your finger." Aragorn's hands instinctively moved to clutch together behind his back. The dark-haired elf noticed the movement and his mouth thinned in annoyance before continuing. "I also recall telling you merely days later, that you were not to claim any woman as your own, nor bind any woman to you in troth until your time had come."  
  
"How can you ask that of me?" cried Aragorn, finding his voice. "You are not my father, as you have made very clear! What right have you to tell me I must live in solitude, and labor alone in all my efforts? With no one to confide in, no promise of a brighter future. It is every man's right to seek a companion in a wife. You cannot deny me that."  
  
"As one who raised you, I would hope that I had instilled strength, compassion, and a sense of justice in you, but apparently I have failed, for you seem to think only of your own suffering. Lasto, Estel! I did not ask this of you to bring you pain. You must think of others! How can you stand before me and tell me that you have the right to bind a woman to your fate when you have nothing to offer her, not even your mere presence? How can you claim that you are entitled to drag another through your years of traveling, fighting and suffering, leaving her alone in the fear of your death and the pain of your absence - for no reason other than to please you?!"  
  
At this, the young man's shoulders sagged and he bit his lip in dismay. Yet his father was not finished. "Let alone one of the Eldar! You will be the death of her, Aragorn. Do you not realize that? With her marriage to you she will be counted among the Edain and she will diminish, and die a mortal death long before her time. She should live forever in the beauty and solace of the Valinor, with her family. But you will take all of that from her. And you will take her from us." The Elf-lord paused, fuming, and turned away, calming himself. "Yet you are correct in one thing; I am not your father. I am, however, Arwen's father."  
  
Aragorn stood motionless, staring intently at the floor as he fought back the tears that had formed in his eyes. Elrond kept his back facing the man as a long pause followed. "Well?" he finally asked. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"  
  
He turned and looked upon the human he has raised from a toddler and was bemused to find the hardened warrior so moved and unable to look at him.  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as he searched for words. He couldn't speak, couldn't think. His father had done what he had feared he would all his life; he had utterly rejected him. Stabbing memories immediately rose, unbidden: Elrond holding him after a nightmare and stroking his hair, teaching him to read with patience, taking him on walks, showing him different medical herbs. It was all he could do it remain silent, and standing.  
  
And worse, he knew he deserved this. He could see the pain he had caused in the great elf--the pain of betrayal and disappointment, and the pain of losing his beloved only daughter. He couldn't bear to see his father so distraught for any reason, let alone something he had done. He had broken Elrond's heart as surely as if he had stabbed him through.  
  
And he had done wrong by Arwen as well. He should have left Lothlorien as soon as he was able, he told himself. He should never have told her his feelings, never have kissed her, never asked her to give up all she had for him. He cursed his selfishness.  
  
Yet, ironically, at this moment, more than anything, he just wanted her to be there with him in Rivendell, to comfort him, and call him Estel. She made him feel as if all his fears were irrational, made him feel brave and wise and kind, made him feel as if he knew himself. He could talk to her for hours, and listen to her for days. He could hold her in his arms without needing to say a word, and the silence was comfortable, as if they didn't need words. His shoulders ached with the weight of the world, pressures of his family and heritage, and weariness from long years of lonely wandering, yet she somehow managed to make him feel weightless and free. And even more amazingly, she made him feel as if he might even deserve that feeling, might deserve her love.  
  
When he had first told her of his fear of hurting her, of dragging her down with him, of causing her pain and ultimately death, she had easily persuaded him not to feel guilty, that it was her own choice, that it was what made her happiest, that she needed him as much as he needed her. Hearing her speak, he found it easy to believe her. Her reasoning made sense. Yet Elrond also made sense. He was sure that if Arwen had been there at that moment, she could have set things right in his mind again, but without her, he found himself doubting his previous confidence, wondering if he had merely been justifying his mistakes.  
  
He needed to sit down. He needed to get out of this room--he could barely breathe. Elrond was still looking at him expectantly, he realized. He was waiting for an answer, but what? What had he asked? He had been unable to hear. He turned toward the elf again, questioningly. "My lord?"  
  
Elrond hesitated for a moment. What dark thoughts had crossed the young human's mind? It was plain that he was extremely upset, yet he could not read him further. Had his words had such an effect on him? He tried to remember exactly what he had said in his furious tirade.  
  
"I asked if you had anything to say for yourself."  
  
"Oh." Now it was Aragorn's turn to hesitate. He could attempt to defend himself again, but what would be the use? He could barely convince himself, he would never persuade the stern elf to forgive him? And he felt too tired and drained to argue back any longer at any rate. He wanted nothing other than to yield.  
  
"Nay, my lord. I think you have said about everything there is to be said." Neither man moved. Aragorn opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again. "I am sorry, Fath-...Lord Elrond. I swear, it was never my intent to grieve you. Nor Arwen..." He hung his head and murmured quietly, "How is it that the two people I love most in this world are the ones I cause the most pain...?"  
  
This last statement seemed to be said to himself, yet the elf's sharp ears heard it clearly. Elrond's brow furrowed as he watched Aragorn bow stiffly and excuse himself, disappearing quickly from the room. He raised his head to the ceiling, closing his eyes tightly as the previous conversation replayed itself in his mind.   
  



	4. A Past Life

_I drove five hundred thousand miles  
To find a world unlike my own,  
And now middle of nowhere seems like my home.  
  
Alone, unknown... Yet fearing nothing but ourselves  
Could be scarier than any crowded room.  
I'm more alone with you than when I'm by myself.  
  
Another night stuck on the vine,  
Another low lit memory  
Where time will slowly have it's way with me.  
  
Just you and me not saying much of anything  
Sometimes could mean more than a thousand words.  
Goodbye, farewell to this world that was my former self.  
  
-The Ataris_

* * *

The warm water still felt wonderful against his pruned skin as he leaned his head of now clean, dark hair against the back of the tub. Most of the soap suds had dissolved, but a few lingered, covering the rough, scarred skin of his chest and arms. He sighed and stared at the ceiling, trying very hard to think of absolutely nothing. He must have succeeded for suddenly he heard a loud knock on the door followed by a call of, "Estel! Great Eru, are you ever coming out?! You've been in there for an hour!"  
  
He quickly sat up and answered, "Sorry, Elrohir! I'm getting out!" Splashing one last handful of water into his face, he raised himself out of the tub and stood, dripping wet.  
  
Elrohir stood outside the door, tapping his foot and rolling his eyes at Elladan who stood beside him. Elladan smiled and shook his head, leaning against the wall as the door opened and their foster-brother emerged, holding a towel wrapped around his waist. "Sorry Elrohir," he repeated.  
  
"Think nothing of it, brother," said the elf, stepping into the bathroom. "We were simply worried you that you might have drowned or something. I am most pleased to see you alive and well." He shut the door behind him with a teasing smile. The remaining elf chuckled quietly and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.  
  
"Welcome home, Estel."  
  
Aragorn smiled. "I am very glad to see you, Elladan. And Elrohir too, of course," he added, gesturing to the closed door. Elladan smiled and returned these sentiments, beginning to walk down the corridor, toward the human's room.  
  
"I suspect you would like to change into some clean clothes, brother?"  
  
"Aye, thank you," he replied, stepping into his room. Elladan nodded and walked off.  
  
Once alone, Aragorn gave a heavy sigh and looked around at the room he had grown up in, glancing at the collection of books that remained untouched, a notebook of his own writings and drawings that still lay visible under his bed, and his old, small training weapons propped up against a wall near the window. He walked over to it and parted the curtains slightly, staring out at the familiar view of lush gardens, trees, and waterfalls, and in the distance, the mountains of Carahadras. He turned around slowly and stood in the silence of a life long forgotten.  
  
Then he made his way to the wardrobe and inspected some of his old tunics. All were in good condition, though he was not sure if the clothes he had worn at age twenty would still fit him. He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and decided to find out. To his amazement, the first outfit he selected still fit fairly well. He had not grown any taller since then, and he was as lean as ever, though more muscular. He glanced in the mirror and studied the figure before him. It was rare that he saw his own reflection. This man was as tall as an elf and quite thin, wearing a long, fine tunic of emerald green. His hair was still wet, and thus appeared longer and black, contrasting sharply with his pale, weather-worn face, and dark, shadowed eyes. He focused his gaze on the eyes, but they were a dull, grey mask that revealed nothing. Did he know this man?  
  
Aragorn shook his head and shut the door of the wardrobe, reaching his bed in a few steps and collapsing on top of it. He marveled at its softness. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling, tracing the familiar lines there. A moment later, a quiet knock was heard, and he sat up, calling for the visitor to enter.  
  
Elladan opened the door to Estel's room to find the man sitting on his bed, legs hanging over the edge, now fully dressed in elvish robes.  
  
"Ah, Elladan," Estel said. "Come in." Elladan noted that his brother sounded relieved it was him and not someone else. Then he noticed how he seemed to be forcing happiness into his voice and face. Something was very wrong. He wondered at himself for not noticing it earlier.  
  
"How do you feel?" he asked, joining him.  
  
Aragorn shrugged. "Tired. But I am feeling much better now."  
  
"Bathing does wonders."  
  
Aragorn tried to smile but it didn't reach his eyes.  
  
"Have you spoken with Ada yet?"  
  
At the mentioning of Lord Elrond and their conversation, Aragorn's smile faltered. He gave Elladan a sharp nod and stared forward at the wall.  
  
"Did he talk about you and Arwen?" Estel made no reaction to this, and Elladan sensed his brother's extreme discomfort, and continued talking to reassure him. "I'm not angry at you about that, you realize. Yes, it saddens me very much to think that my sister will not be with us in the Valinor, that we must live out the rest of our lives without her. But I have seen you too together, even before you became betrothed, and I know that it is right. I know how much you love her, Estel. She deserves nothing less." This too was met with silence.  
  
Elladan placed an arm around the mortal's back and a sudden gasp, almost a sob, escaped Aragorn. He raised his head upward and sniffed, trying desperately to hold in the unbearable tension and pain inside him. "It's alright," Elladan whispered, rubbing his hand over the man's back. "It's alright, little brother. I'm here. Let it out."  
  
Aragorn shut his eyes tightly and remained still for a moment, then gave in and leaned forward, holding his face in his hands as the tears poured down his face. Elladan tightened his hold on his shoulder, and hugged him to his side to lean against him. Aragorn buried his face in his shoulder, After a few long minutes, his shoulders stopped heaving with sobs, and his tears slowed. He let go of his brother and sat up, rubbing his now red eyes and running a hand through his damp hair. He took a few deep breaths, and then was quiet. Elladan was looking at him with concern and curiosity.  
  
"Thank you, Elladan," he said quietly. Elladan nodded but continued looking at him, head cocked to the side in question. "I just... I don't know. It feels so strange being here again. I feel... out of place."  
  
"Estel, this is your home." Aragorn nodded, but Elladan didn't believe him. "This is your home and you're my little brother. Nothing has changed, no matter how many years have gone by, no matter what choices you've made. Elrohir is still your brother, and Ada is still your father."  
  
"Elladan," said Aragorn, speaking quietly and evenly, determined not to break down again. "I came here hoping all that you say would be true. But it isn't. Lord Elrond is your father, and not mine."  
  
"Did he say as much to you?" Elladan asked. Aragorn gave a curt nod. Elladan fell silent at this, taking in what he had just said. He turned his head away. His father had disowned Estel? How could this be?  
  
"He didn't mean that," said Elladan after a long moment. "He was just so upset because of Arwen and everything. He was very angry, that's all. He knew not what he said."  
  
Aragorn wanted to believe him, but he couldn't. "I have never known your father to act rashly or lose his temper, brother. He has always spoken exactly as he means."  
  
"Yes, he has admirable self-control, but I have known him longer than you, Estel. I have seen him truly angry before. And I tell you, he did not mean that." Again, silence ensued. "He loves you."  
  
"He has no love for me, Elladan!" shouted Aragorn, jumping to his feet. He knew Elladan meant well, but he was growing frustrated. "Estel--yes; he loved Estel. At least, he loved Estel in the way one loves a pet. That is what I was: a clumsy yet cute, helpless, affectionate, obedient little human child! Who would not love that? Of course, I was troublesome at times, but all pets are. But now," he paused, seething, pacing back and forth on the floor. "That pet has grown up, and all too quickly. Now I am neither helpless nor cute, nor affectionate nor even obedient. I am merely a man--a man like any other: weak and selfish and destined to die!"  
  
"Daro, daro! Now it is you who are saying things you do not mean!" cried Elladan, rising to stand before Aragorn and grasping his shoulders. "How can you say that?! Valar! No, it is not even worth going into the absurdity of what you have just said. You were angry, and I can understand that. Surely you must not truly feel that way." He looked at his brother's troubled, tear-stained face and sighed, searching for words. "I know not what to say to you, Estel. Except that, no matter what you may think, I have always, and will always see you as my brother and nothing else."  
  
Aragorn nodded, and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, breathing deeply, feeling his anger dwindle. "Thank you, Elladan. Truly. You're right. I'm sorry for my outburst."  
  
"It's alright," said Elladan. He hesitated. "I still think that you're wrong about Ada. Please give him a chance. Let me talk to him."  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "It won't do any good. Most likely, it will only anger him more. Just forget what I've said here."  
  
"I cannot merely forget this. I never knew you felt this way. I'm sorry if I have ever done anything to attribute to this."  
  
"No, Elladan, you have never-"  
  
"Good," said Elladan, cutting him off. "I do not think Ada realizes how badly he has hurt you. Please, just let me speak with him."  
  
"Do what you will," said Aragorn, giving up. "Though I do not think it will make a difference. He has every right to hate me. As does Arwen."  
  
"Hush, brother. That is not true and you know it." He stared intently into the man's eyes. "Hush. Think no more on this. Now, get some rest."  
  
Aragorn nodded gratefully, and the two hugged each other tightly, before Elladan left him to sleep. 


	5. Retrospection

_Got bitten fingernails and a head full of the past  
and everybody's gone at last...  
It's a sweet, sweet smile that's fading fast  
cause everybody's gone at last...  
  
You don't get upset about it  
No, not anymore.  
There's nothing wrong  
that wasn't wrong before.  
  
Got a broken heart and your name on my cast  
and everybody's gone at last...  
Everybody's gone at last.  
-Elliott Smith  
_

* * *

Elrond watched Estel disappear around the corner and stood, transfixed where he stood. What had he done? This was no stranger or enemy; this was his Estel. No matter how quickly he had grown up into the wandering, fighting, bearded man, inside, he was still the toddler he had held in his arms and declared "Estel" - the hope of the Dunedain, the hope of the world. He was still the same boy who had watched him working with, bright, earnest eyes, eager to learn, to help, to please. Somehow, he had turned him into something else in his mind, yet the moment he had turned around to find the man so wounded from his words, guilt had begun slowly seeping out of somewhere inside him.  
  
"I'm sorry, my son," he whispered, placing a steadying hand on his desk.  
  
Yet he had had the chance to apologize to the man, to reassure him of his love for him. But he had merely stood, unable to back down after condemning him with such finality. He had felt regret for being so harsh, yet something kept him holding his ground, incapable of contradicting himself and comforting the man.  
  
He slowly sat down, deep in thought. He had not meant to hurt Estel so deeply, that much he knew. But had he been fundamentally wrong in the matter, or had it merely been poor execution?  
  
_ It was wrong of him to directly disobey me and ask for my daugher's hand_, he assured himself, silently. _It was wrong of him to assume he was worthy of her, to act on his desires, to bring her to pain and death._ His words echoed through his mind and he winced. _Nay, nay. He has always felt unworthy--you can see it in his eyes whenever she is mentioned, and... I have no way of knowing who acted first. He knew not that she was in Lothlorien when he entered; he could not have known. He did not go there for the purpose of seeing her. But as to my third accusation..._ He drew a cold hand over his white face and breathed deeply.  
  
He would not get angry; he must remain calm and objective. He was searching for the truth, he reminded himself, just as in any situation. Only this was far more difficult, for it involved himself, and the people he held dearest. Even thinking this, he was still angry.  
  
_ I must ask myself why I am angry._ Immediately, visions of Arwen arose. Arwen lying awake during the lonely hours of the night, unable to sleep for fear Estel should be killed. Arwen growing old, her black hair faded and grey, her fair skin marred and wrinkled, her bright eyes dulled and defeated. And he saw himself leaving for the Valinor, alone, returning to Celebrian to tell her that their daughter had chosen not to come, that she would rather live a few happy years with Aragorn and die, than be with them forever. Was it Arwen then, whom he was truly angry at?  
  
A tear ran down the elf's stony face. Something inside him was aching--a hole deep within him... an ever-growing hole that had begun with Earendil setting out on his voyage to beg forgiveness from the Valar, with Elwing clutching the Silmaril to her breast and throwing herself out her window--some said she had grown wings and flown to her husband, but all Elrond knew for certain was that he had never seen her again. The hole had deepened with every crime Maglor commited, as he realized he could not stop or save him, and it grew even more with his abandonment of his brother and himself. And with Elros' choice and ultimate death, he had felt his heart nearly swallowed in the hole. Year by year, it had been patched under Gil-Galad's care. The mighty Elven King had been more of a father to him than either Earendil or Maglor; as his squire and herald, he had followed him many a time into battle, and he had watched him fall under Sauron's force. Yet he had gone on stoically, for he had the fair Celebrian at his side, and she slowly brought him back to life.  
  
"Meleth-nin. Ai, meleth-nin..." came the muffled cry from his sleeve where his head lay upon the table. "Why did you leave me? Why did you have to leave?"  
  
He felt cruel to wish her to have stayed by him in Middle-Earth, weak and frail as she was. He knew not how long the orcs had tortured her--she would not speak of it--and he did not want to know. She had only said that she could not remain any longer, and so he had let her go. So many years had passed since he had held her in his arms and gazed upon her clear, blue eyes and felt the warmth of the sunlight captured in her golden hair.  
  
If not for but one thing, he surely would never have lived on past that day, or else he would have abandoned his post and fled with his love to the Valinor, leaving his brother's descendants to fend for themselves or perish. One thing had kept him alive and whole: his children--Celebrian's children. Especially his Undomiel, for his sons reminded him too much of himself, while Arwen, though much his likeness in appearance, wore her mother's eyes and he could hear her laughing when Arwen laughed, and see her smile in her smile.  
  
Yes, he realized, he was angry at Arwen--angry for not loving him as much as he loved her, for not realizing how she had filled his too-oft-broken heart with joy, for growing up too quickly, for no longer needing him, for abandoning him as everyone had, and choosing instead, death.  
  
Yet how could he blame his beautiful, innocent, young daughter? Nay, it was not in him to bear ill feelings toward her. Instead, he had turned to the young man who had stolen her heart. It was easy to transfer his wrath to Aragorn; he was nearly unrecognizable from the boy who had sat upon his lap, unlike Arwen, who's face was ever unchanging. And the man was so like to himself, he realized--more so even than the twins. Subconsciously, he had felt that there would be less pain involved with lashing out at Estel.   
  
But he did feel pain.  
  
"I must make amends with him," he realized, rising from his chair. "And," he continued, hesitating for a long, thoughtful moment. "And I must... let her go. She cannot remain my little girl for eternity; I must let her go, as I let her mother go." He breathed deeply, a resolute light in his eyes. "I must let Aragorn go to her, just as I must go to my Celebrian."  
  
At that moment, Elrohir entered the room. He stopped when he saw his father standing by his desk, one hand holding onto the top of the chair, staring intently at nothing.  
  
"Ada?" he said questioningly, one eyebrow raised.  
  
Elrond blinked in surpise, mentally jarred from his deep contemplation. He turned to his son, a faraway, yet calm expression on his face.  
  
"Is everything alright?" asked Elrohir quietly, seeing the red in his father's eyes and the tear-tracks on his pale face.  
  
The Elf Lord nodded, even smiled and brought an arm out to rest on his son's shoulder. "Yes, my son," he replied. "All is as it should be."  
  
Elrohir returned his smile. Though still confused, he sensed that his father had been thinking very hard and had come to some sort of conclusion, and in doing so, was at peace with himself. As long as he could remember, which was a rather significant amount of time, his father had seemed wise, fair, kind, brave, noble, but never happy. His face was rigid with self-discipline and self-denial, his eyes dark shields to the world. For an elf, he appeared actually old, the years wore him down so. But at this moment, Elrohir saw his father smile, and it seemed thousands of years were lifted from him. 


	6. Tension

_Alone at last,  
Together in a photograph.  
Our eyes are always open devoted to perfection..  
Through silence.  
  
What am I supposed to do?  
Should I sit and wait for you?  
Listen to me screaming more..  
  
Fold the corners.  
Break the silence.  
  
_-Finch

* * *

Aragorn woke suddenly at the sound of a knock on the door of his room. He was skilled as a ranger, able to fall asleep quickly in nearly any circumstances and awake just as quickly at the slightest sound that could mean danger. He sat up on his bed, on top of the covers and still in his robes.  
  
"Come in," he called. A maiden with the black hair of the noldor poked her head in the door.  
  
"Your presence is requested at dinner, sir."  
  
"Ah," he said. "Thank you." The elven servant nodded and left.  
  
Aragorn sighed and ran a hand through his hair, falling back onto his bed, not sure if he really wanted to attend dinner tonight. His stomach growled as if in protest, but he ignored it, continuing to stare at the ceiling. Could he truly sit calmly, eating his meal and making conversation with the lords of Imladris as if nothing was wrong? Could he bear to feel Elrond's cold glare upon him and hold himself together? It mattered not, he admitted with a sigh, rising from the bed. He had been invited; he had to attend, and he would simply have to control his emotions as best he could.  
  
Building up a protecting façade was an art he had mastered; this would be just like all the other times he had needed to keep his true self hidden, he decided. He had danced around Denethor's interrogations and discerning eyes; he had blended into the cultures of Gondor, Rohan, and Harad. He had befriended his soldiers without them ever truly knowing who he was; he kept curious Breelanders away merely by looking at them. This would be no different. He would be Aragorn the ranger, friend of Elladan and Elrohir, a dunadan of the north like any other--nothing more.  
  
His heart sunk at this thought. These elves were more than strangers from distant countries; they were--had been--his family. Yet he was determined to make it through this meal and keep his dignity. If Elrond could not be his father, he would not be his enemy. He locked his jaws down in a polite smile and strolled into the dining hall, taking his seat between Elladan and another Rivendell elf named Herendil who greeted him pleasantly, remarking on how he had grown since he had last seen him.  
  
Dinner went on as it always had, most of the company unaware of the tension hanging in the air at the far end of the long table. Aragorn was very hungry and happily concentrated solely on his food, glad for an excuse to not have to look up at his father and risk eye contact.  
  
Lord Elrond sat at the head, holding a conversation with Glorfindel who sat at his side. He wanted to speak with his son, but this was not the time nor the place. He would have to seek him out afterwards. Still, he wanted to let the young man know that he was forgiven and welcome. He waited for the right pause then struck up a new topic, directing a question at Aragorn.  
  
"How was your journey here, Aragorn?"  
  
Aragorn looked up from his food, surprise registering on his face briefly before he smiled and answered politely, "Quite swift and smooth, my lord," then reached for his wine.  
  
"Have you been to the Dunedain yet, Estel?" asked Elrohir, who sat across from him.  
  
Aragorn swallowed and put down his glass. It seemed he would be unable to avoid conversation any longer. "Nay, I have not been there as of yet, but I plan to meet with Halbarad within the week, and hopefully I will have a chance to visit my mother soon."  
  
"Ah, that is well," Elrohir replied. "I know she has missed you dearly."  
  
"How fares she?"  
  
"She is well; worry not," the young elf answered.  
  
Aragorn nodded and took a bite of bread. His section of the table fell into silence once again. He felt he should say something else, but he felt drained. Truly, he just wanted to be alone for the moment. And the mentioning of his mother brought about new disruptive feelings.  
  
He did miss her very much. He was sorry that he saw her so rarely. She must be growing older, he realized. Soon she would need to be taken care of. Why had he not been thinking of her? Why hadn't he gone to her instead of here? She was truly his flesh and blood. She had focused her entire life on him; she would always be there. His visits with her were rare and brief, for, though she missed him terribly when he was away and feared for her only child, she would not keep him from his destiny. Yet, though she pushed him to succeed and never give up, she was always there when he felt he could not go on; and he knew she would love him as her son no matter what happened.  
  
He had just made up his mind to, after two days of rest at Imladris, make for the Dunedain village--where his mother dwelled, and as well as his people, soldiers, cousins, and friends--when he was suddenly jarred from his thoughts. Everyone was rising from the table and dispersing in groups, and the Lord of Rivendell was approaching him, looking solemn and determined. He resisted the urge to bite his lip, or clutch his hands together, or walk away, and merely stared back at the elf's cold, grey eyes.  
  
"Estel," he murmured seriously. "I must speak with you. Please accompany me to the garden."  
  
Aragorn hesitated. "Have you not already said all that needs to be said, my lord?"  
  
"Nay, I am not near finished on this matter. Besides, we did not come to any clear conclusion."  
  
"I believe, sir, there was... somewhat... of a conclusion gained from that," Aragorn answered, politeness forced into his voice. "At least, for me."  
  
"Ada!" said Elladan, appearing at his father's side. Elrond raised an eyebrow at his son and waited for an explanation.  
  
"I... I have to talk to you."  
  
"Now?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It cannot wait?" Elrond wanted very much to heal this breach as soon as possible, and before it was too late.  
  
Elladan shook his head. He had overheard Elrond's words to his brother, and wanted to stop this next verbal assault before any more damage was done. He was sure his father would change his mind once he calmed down and listened to reason.  
  
Elrond sighed and reluctantly laid a hand on Estel's shoulder. "I will speak with you later then." Aragorn nodded almost imperceptibly and the two elves walked away together.  
  
Elladan walked quickly away from the dining hall and did not stop for a few minutes, leading his father to a secluded room and stopping at a window, where he stood watching the stars that slowly appeared.  
  
"What is so urgent that you had to interrupt me and lead me here?" asked Elrond impatiently.  
  
"I couldn't let you talk to Estel again," Elladan said dully, still gazing out the window. "Not before I had had a chance to speak with you first."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Lord Elrond, his brow furrowing in confusion and mild annoyance.  
  
"You didn't see him, did you? Not really. You didn't really look at him. If you had you could never have said such things." Elrond's frown deepened but he waited for his son to finish. "I saw him, father. I found him not long after his meeting with you. He tried to pretend nothing was wrong, but I know him too well. He was distraught. At the slightest inquiry and use of gentle words, he broke down despite himself, and wept on my shoulder."  
  
Elrond felt his chest tighten and looked away, but Elladan didn't seem to notice and went on, speaking quietly. "I tried to tell him that no one blamed him for Arwen's choice. He loves her more than life; anyone can see that. But he didn't believe me. He seemed to feel that you felt it was entirely his fault--and he believed you were right. When I told him he was wrong, that you would never think that, he quickly informed me that you did, in fact feel that way." Elladan shook his head, finally turning his head to look at his father. "He said... that you told him he was not a part of our family."  
  
Elrond's face was expressionless. "Is it true, Ada?"  
  
"I said that, yes," the elf-lord answered with a sigh.  
  
Elladan's shouldered dropped slightly and he opened his mouth but no words came. He looked intently at his father for a moment, his eyes hurt, confused, disbelieving, then turned away. He knew it was not his place to tell his father that he was wrong, but he could not help himself as the words trailed out.  
  
"He looked so forlorn, so forsaken, so... empty. He talked as if he had seen your rejection coming years and years ago... as if he has never felt accepted in our house. He speaks of himself deprecatingly, going on about the failings of mortals, and how he can never be enough. He said that you... that we have made him feel like nothing but a pet... a pet that has now grown up, and no longer has any use, and is unwanted."  
  
Elladan turned away from the night sky and risked a glance at his father. To his relief, the ancient elf looked neither angry nor doubtful nor apathetic. Rather, he looked grieved and ashamed. He stood unmoving, his eyes shut tightly.  
  
"Ada?"  
  
Elrond let out a breath sharply, and slowly opened his eyes, which were soft and shining with moisture. "Yes, my son?"  
  
Elladan looked at his father with some pity now. He did not enjoy making his beloved adar feel guilty, but he had felt it necessary. "What will you do now?" he asked quietly.  
  
The older elf breathed deeply and put an arm around his son. "What I had been planning to do already, Elladan." For a brief moment, Elladan looked shocked and almost angry, but then it quickly was replaced with realization and regret.  
  
"Oh. Oh, Ada... I didn't realize that's what you were-... I didn't mean to-... I'm sorry."  
  
"Nay, nay," said Elrond soothingly. "It had to be said, Elladan, you were right. Though I had realized my mistake, I did not entirely grasp the brevity of it. Nor did I realize that this wound is much older and deeper than I had thought. It is not the pain from one bitter argument. It is the pain from the realization of one's deepest fear, building up over years. I did not realize I had hurt him so. I never meant to..." He trailed off, his eyes cast downward.  
  
Elladan placed a comforting hand on his father's arm. "I know you never intended any harm. I know you were not aware of the great pain you caused him. It is he who does not know."  
  
Elrond nodded and left the room to seek out his youngest son. 


	7. Forward Together

_The river to the ocean goes,  
a fortune for the undertow.  
None of this is going my way.  
  
There is nothing left to throw  
of ginger, lemon, indigo,  
coriander stem and rose of hay...  
  
Strength and courage overrides  
the privileged and weary eyes  
of river poet search naiveté._

_Pick up here and chase the ride.  
The river empties to the tide.  
All of this is coming your way.  
  
_-R.E.M.

* * *

The air was cool and refreshing as the lone dunadan sauntered through the flourishing gardens of Rivendell. The sun had crept below the horizon, yet its light still lingered on the clouds overhead, which streaked the sky in pale pinks and yellows. Aragorn inhaled deeply in the growing darkness, taking in the crisp autumn air which smelt of firewood, mingled with the scent of the surrounding flowers and trees. He lit his pipe and brought it to rest upon his lip, closing his eyes contentedly.  
  
It felt wonderful to be alone. He couldn't help it; the smell of the earth, the gentle breeze in his hair, the dim light of the stars overhead--these were all home to him. Perhaps it wasn't so horrible to not really have a home, he mused. Anywhere the stars could be seen at night was home, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all. He had looked forward so to finally coming home, only to realize that, for him, home would never stay in one place for long. He had barely spent a day with the elves, yet already he was beginning to plan his next journey. Although, he had to admit, perhaps that was not entirely out of wanderlust.  
  
"It's getting dark," came a quiet voice behind him. "You should come inside and take some rest. You could certainly use some."  
  
"I slept for a bit earlier," he replied without turning to see who it was. He knew that voice anywhere.  
  
The elf came to stand beside him silently, following the ranger's gaze, out into the wild. Their shadows stretched across the grass behind them. The tension hung between them, and Aragorn was grateful to the veil of darkness that hid him, and the owls and crickets hooting and chirping quietly all around, lifting some of the heavy silence. He didn't know why Lord Elrond insisted on speaking to him again, but he could not very well tell him to leave.  
  
"How long will you be staying?" came the voice from beside him, after several minutes had passed.  
  
Aragorn slowly released a puff of smoke, hesitating. "I do not know. Not long."  
  
Elrond nodded, then turned to face him. "Estel, I came here to apologize."  
  
Aragorn's head turned sharply at these words and he lowered his pipe. "Apologize?"  
  
Elrond nodded again, then paused, wondering how to go on. "The things I said to you earlier... I didn't mean them. I was extremely angry, Aragorn, you must understand. Arwen is very dear to me. I cannot bear the thought of living forever with the knowledge that I have left my only daughter to grow old and die in grief, in this cruel, changeful world." Aragorn nodded, watching his father intently and sorrowfully. He felt his anger fading, replaced once more with a deep, consuming guilt. "And... I can't bear the thought... that this is what she wants. That she would rather die here with you, than live forever with me. What did I do to drive her away from her father?" This last thing was said very quietly, more to himself than the man at his side.  
  
Aragorn's mouth opened in surprise at this revelation. His father--the wise, ancient, powerful, renown Lord Elrond--was jealous? He blinked in disbelief. Elrond was so calm, so controlled. How could he have said things he had not meant in a fit of jealousy? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found it comforting to know his father was human, in a sense, after all, capable of every emotion and of making mistakes. Elrond's head was hung low and his eyes were squeezed shut, and Aragorn looked on him with deep empathy.  
  
"It's not like that, Fath-," he paused for a moment, biting his lip at the slip. "...my lord. You did nothing to drive her away. She had no desire to hurt you. I know she thought long and hard over this decision and struggled with warring emotions for weeks, and more than a few tears were spent in the process, I promise you. She wanted to go with you very much. It was just that-" He tried to think of something to explain it, but could find no good reason for Arwen to stay. "In truth, sir, I do not understand her choice any more than you do. But do not think for a moment that it was an easy decision for her, or that she decided out of a desire to be away from you. She loves you very much, my lord."  
  
Elrond smiled. "I am comforted to hear that," he said honestly. "I had feared that I was a factor in her desire to remain in Middle-Earth, but I see now that the only factor in this was you."  
  
He glanced at Aragorn and chuckled at his face which had turned ashen. "Fear not, my son," he said, placing a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "I am finished with the earlier assault. As I was saying, I was quite distraught this afternoon. Now that I have given the matter some constructive thought, rather than merely brooding bitterly, I have realized that I was placing all of my anger on you, when in truth, it was Arwen I was actually angry with. No, don't interrupt; there's no need to defend her. I have sorted out those feelings too and I am no longer angry with her. She is no longer my little girl, and I cannot hold her back any longer. She is a grown woman and capable of making her own decisions, and I must respect that. It was inevitable that this would come. But there is one thing that comforts me in this situation."  
  
He met Aragorn's eyes with an intense gaze and said, slowly and seriously, "Estel, my son, if it had to be someone, I am glad that it is you. I can think of no one I could better trust to love and cherish my daughter and give her the life she deserves. I know she will be happy and safe with you."  
  
Aragorn's eyes widened in shock and he merely stared for a moment, not believing what he had just heard. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and asked tentatively, "Do you mean that?"  
  
Elrond smiled sadly and pulled him into an embrace that, in truth, he felt he needed as much as his edain son did. "Of course I mean it," he whispered over the man's shoulder. "And I did not mean what I said before. Please forgive me, my son... for everything. I think I have been distancing myself from you since the day you arrived in my home, afraid of the pain that would come when you inevitably passed away. But it seems I have failed miserably, for never have I loved you any less than my own children. I know I was not the most affectionate father, Estel. I know I have made you feel worthless and ashamed in the past, but please believe me when I tell you now, that you have always been, and will always be, my son. You are a great man, Estel, and I am so proud of you... so very proud of you."  
  
Aragorn listeneds to these words with growing elation; a great wound within him had suddenly begun to heal, and the sensation was nearly more than he could bear. _Elrond did not hate him._ His father forgave him, accepted him, loved him, and was proud of him. These thoughts echoed through his mind repeatedly and he felt his chest might burst with joy. He pulled back from the embrace and looked at his father with a tearful smile, saying with his eyes what words could never express. Elrond returned the smile, wiping away his own tears, breathing in the cool night air deeply.  
  
Aragorn drew a hand over his face with a contented sigh. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he commented, "I don't think I've cried as much in years as I have this day."  
  
Elrond laughed, gently draping an arm around the man's shoulders, gesturing toward the house. The sun had finally set, and father and son made their way back through the gardens in darkness.  
  
"Does this mean that Arwen and I have your blessing?" asked Aragorn.  
  
Elrond did not reply for a moment, walking silently along the pathway, contemplating his answer. "No," he said slowly and thoughtfully.  
  
Aragorn nearly stopped in his tracks. Confusion etched itself plainly across his features as he raised an eyebrow at his father, a hint of panic visible.  
  
Elrond tried not to laugh at the humorous expression on his fosterling's face. But his smile faded quickly as he explained darkly, "You must understand, Estel. Arda is hovering on the brink of war, and you my son, shall be in the midst of it, for this was the path placed before you even before you were born. Times have been dark, as of late, and it is only the beginning. Long days of turmoil and hardship await you yet. However, I am not sorry that you were born to such an age as this, for a great king such as we have not seen since Elendil is needed now. Estel I named you when I first beheld you, and not without reason. Though I do not doubt your strength, Aragorn, not even the wisest can see for certain what your fate will be. What if you are killed?"  
  
Aragorn frowned. He had heard similar foresight from many elves over the years, but never had he truly pondered that question and its consequences. Even in the heart of battle, racing on horseback, spear held high in Rohan, or leading his troops in Gondor, brandishing his blood-stained sword, he had never seriously considered it. He found this strange in retrospect and wondered at himself. He would be the first to admit that he was far from undefeatable, yet he threw himself into combat without a thought, willing to surrender his life to a cause he believed in. When it was his life alone, he had nothing to hold him back. But now...  
  
"What would Arwen do if you were killed?" asked Elrond, voicing Aragorn's own thoughts. "She would be left, bound to your fate, without even enjoying the few fleeting years of joy that you could offer her. She would be left to grow old in her husband's absence, sacrificing her immortality, and parting from all whom she held dear in the world... for naught."  
  
Aragorn stared at his feet with unseeing eyes. He felt a dull, numbing despair wash over him as he heard the truth in his father's words. He could not become Arwen's husband only to leave again. He was too unstable an anchor to bind anyone to him. Suddenly he realized that he had already been told this by the very man now standing beside him, watching him with pity as he finally grasped what this meant. He wondered now whether Elrond's wrath was so terrible--at least then, he could dismiss these commands as unjust and irrational. Realizing the truth--that he could never lay down his sword and call Arwen his wife--was far worse. It was a dream, he realized, a lovely dream, but nothing more. He felt too exhausted to feel the anguished grips of grief clutch him at this point; all he could do was stand by in defeat, staring numbly at the ground.  
  
"You're right," he said dully. "I do need sleep."  
  
The elf's graceful yet strong hands reached under his bearded chin and lifted his weary face to look at him. Elrond's dark blue eyes looked deep into his son's and they spoke of hope.  
  
"Only time can tell what events will come. If the world endures the days to come, and a new age is born, and you are made King of both Gondor and Arnor... and if you and Arwen are still bent on this choice... you will have my blessing."  
  
A faint spark rekindled in the young dunadan's eyes and he searched his father's face for reassurance. Slowly, a broad smile spread across his face. He may yet live to see the day that he and Arwen would be build a new life together. Nay, he _would_ live to see it. He would fight with ten times the strength he had had before, for he would see the new day come if he had to march straight to Sauron's door and fight him single-handedly as Fingolfin had fought Morgoth. He would be king--an idea he had always regarded with a sense of ambivalence. And he would do it all for Arwen.  
  
"Thank you, father," he said quietly, his face aglow with newly-found hope.  
  
"We will speak no more of this now." Elrond smiled at the joy in his son's voice, but it did not quite reach his eyes. In his heart he felt a sense of dread and bitterness. For the Lord of Imladris, pain was inevitable, regardless of whatever outcome met them. He would lose either way. To lose Estel, the last of his brothers' line, to the forces of darkness, would be a stab to the heart, and it would cause him unbearable pain for years to see Arwen's grief, if such a thing should indeed befall them... And yet, if all that they dreamed for came true, still he would lose them.  
  
"Thank you," Aragorn repeated Aragorn, sensing Elrond's sorrow. "For everything." He laid a comforting and grateful hand on his shoulder for a moment, then smiled once more. And with that, he stepped into the house, leaving Elrond to stand on the porch for a while longer, looking up at the stars.  
  
The world would turn as it always had, and many hard years would come and Elrond was comforted with the knowledge that, though he could not have all that he would wish for, everything was as it should be. Aragorn would fight with doubled vigor, and Arwen would wait, and someday, they would be king and queen. Gondor and Arnor, the brother nations that had been divided for so long, would be united once more to form a grand and beautiful kingdom, balancing power and wisdom. And Arwen and Aragorn, with their union, would join the lines of Eldar and Edain that had lived side by side for so many years, and from them would come a new line that would lead the world into the new day. 


End file.
